


as you saw me go, i was singing this song

by fairbanks



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Do Not Archive, M/M, Mindless Fluff, Not Beta Read, Singing, seriously just tooth rotting nonsense because i needed some of that good good pointless fluff, very vague spoilers for season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 03:38:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15900123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairbanks/pseuds/fairbanks
Summary: Jon's own keys were in the chipped bowl so he was home, and the muffled sound of water meant he was in the shower. It was rare Martin came home later but today he was in the field. That information was horrifying, of course, it always was in small ways, but he tried to swallow the feeling down as he shrugged off his coat and focused on the sound of singing from further in the flat. It was a nice song, and Martin wondered a moment if Jon brought his phone into the bathroom or something when he realized the song had no actual music. It was just singing any-He stopped dead in the hallway when it clicked. It was Jon singing.





	as you saw me go, i was singing this song

Jon gave him a key. A _key._ It's a little fact of life Martin keeps close to his chest, one of those random little thoughts that make him smile giddily at odd intervals. Life was kind of terrible, sure, they were all bound to an Eye cult, Jon was a monster's punching bag too often and the chances of everyone surviving was slim to none but...

But Jonathan 'I don't care for pleasantries' Sims gave him a _key._ To his apartment. He placed it in Martin's hands and said he trusted Martin not to abuse the privilege. 

Alright, maybe that wasn't the most romantic event but Martin was rather used to Jon being prickly when he was nervous. The fact he was nervous was sweet, it meant the gesture wasn't just logical to him. Maybe most people didn't want to spend the time reading the between the lines but Martin never really minded. The fact Jon's shoulders didn't ease until Martin enthusiastically accepted the key told him it meant as much to him as it did to Martin.

Or, well, close enough.

"Jon?" Martin called as he unlocked the front door with said key, glancing around at the empty flat. Jon didn't have much in the way of pictures or nicknacks, which Martin assumed was more due to him spending the majority of his time working rather than cultivating any sort of clutter or decoration in his home. It was a little lonely, Martin thought at least, so he took to bringing little things over once and a while- an old throw blanket here, a chipped bowl to throw keys and mail there. That sort of thing.

He expected Jon to get annoyed but the man didn't say anything. He even caught Jon wrapped up in the throw blanket when the weather got colder. Again those little things between the lines, they added up.

Martin headed in regardless of the lack of response, yawning and cracking his neck as he let the stress of the day slip off him. He didn't pretend work was easy or kind, not anymore, but part of him was determined to keep it as separate from his life outside of the Archives as he could. That wasn't easy when Jon came home bloody and bruised, the times Elias insinuated Jon would need to throw him aside like a finished story someday, or the days Martin's hands wouldn't stop shaking from some horrible truth he uncovered in investigation. The days he missed Sasha, the days he missed _Tim_ , even if Tim was still alive.

(He wasn't there though, _actually there,_ not really.)

They could have that much pretend sometimes, couldn't they?

Jon's own keys were in the chipped bowl so he was home, and the muffled sound of water meant he was in the shower. It was rare Martin came home later but today he was in the field, trying to find information that took far longer than he expected. That information was horrifying, of course, it always was in small ways, but he tried to swallow the feeling down as he shrugged off his coat and focused on the sound of singing from further in the flat. It was a nice song, and Martin wondered a moment if Jon brought his phone into the bathroom or something when he realized the song had no actual music. It was just singing any-

He stopped dead in the hallway when it clicked. It was _Jon_ singing.

The instinct to freeze reminded him of seeing some prey animal, like a deer that would bolt away the second anything moved within its sight. Jon was singing, in the shower, _Jon was singing in the shower_ , he was actually doing that and Martin could hear it and he had to strangle a delighted laugh because it was just so-

So adorable? So _normal?_ So... domestic, so Jon letting down his guard in some setting and Martin was there to witness it and it just... 

(He wondered if this is what it'd feel like if they weren't shackled to something they could never really understand. He ached and pushed it down, deep down, once again.

They could pretend. They had to.)

When the novelty of the event passed Martin couldn't help but notice not only was Jon singing but he was actually rather good at it. He always did appreciate Jon's voice, especially once he began giving up the stuffy air and punctuated accent, more still in the rare moments Jon was warm, soft and genuine in ways he usually hid. Martin never considered that same nice voice would translate to a nice singing voice, deeper than he expected and enunciated with the same care Jon usually gave to words.

Martin crept a little closer, trying to recognize the song without music and muffled by the door between them and the shower's sound. He couldn't name it but it sounded old, a crooning quality that reminded him of record players rather than mp3s. It wasn’t Martin’s style exactly, though he certainly didn’t mind vintage here and there, but it was lovely. 

If Martin was being entirely honest with himself Jon could sing something downright awful or laughable and he’d probably still find it lovely.

He considers cracking the door open, just a little bit just a _touch_ , but settles instead for sitting down next to the door and enjoying the rarity while it lasted. There’s a lingering sour smell on his clothes (not rot, right? No, he knew what that smelled like now) and one of his nails is cracked down the middle (they slammed the door on it, the family of the statement giver- read: the victim) but for a few blessed moments there’s just the sound of cascading water and Jon’s voice echoing soft sentiments off the walls. 

He’s in the middle of trying to remember what sort of music Jon even liked (none, as far as he could tell, given Jon had something scathing to say about every music station cycled through in a car ride) when the sound of water stops. Martin’s in such a nice lull he doesn’t realize fully, only registers he can understand the words better now -- _say hello to the folks I know, tell them I won’t be long_ \-- and that meant-

The door opens just as Martin’s scrambling to his feet. This time he’s the prey animal trapped at a glance, staring at a wet Jon with only a towel around his waist as Jon stares back.

“Were you waiting for the-”

“I didn’t hear anything, I-”

They speak at the same time, and Martin cursing himself as Jon realizes and goes red. It’s not remotely dignified when Jon blushes, a sputter, tomato red affair that is so ridiculous Martin can’t help but ease with squashed smile. He wasn’t much better, he damn well blushed with his whole body, but-

“You’re blushing,” he points out, and Jon’s shoulder raise in defense.

“You’re _spying_. Who even spies on a showering man for _singing?_ Honestly, I- oh lord, what happened to your hand?”

Jon’s rant dies on his lips and Martin glances down at that cracked nail- yes, it was rather horrid looking. “Oh um, door slammed on it. It’s not that bad, really.”

“I do not want hear it, go sit down in the kitchen,” Jon orders then turns tail to his bedroom. Martin counts his very few lucky stars that didn’t end worse and does as he’s told.

When Jon returns it’s clothed, boxers and one of the old tshirts he used for sleeping. It’s threadbear and worn and has holes throughout it, free offerings from Jon’s university days. This one is for a bar Jon told him Georgie dragged him to for trivia, something they won easily between them and got ugly tshirts and free pitchers of beer for their trouble.

Martin is incredibly fond of it.

He also has the well used first aid kit from the bathroom, which he places on the counter before demanding Martin hold out his injured hand to the light with his eyes alone. Martin sighs but can’t quite kill the smile tugging at his lips as Jon takes to examining the injury. He didn’t care to be babied, never did, but a little worry and nursing from his boyfriend ( _his_ boyfriend!) wasn’t all that bad.

“You’re a good singer,” Martin tells him as Jon opens the kit, and in return he gets a glower from Jon that’s more embarrassment than anger. “Where did you learn that song?”

“You could have knocked on the door,” accuses Jon, and for several long moments he tends to Martin’s hand carefully before finally offering an answer. “My grandmother used to play it when she cooked. It gets stuck in my head sometimes.”

It’s such a nice little tidbit Martin’s a little thrown off when Jon continues, “I believe it’s about meeting loved ones in the afterlife, saying goodbye as you die, that sort of thing.”

“Jon,” Martin laughs, shoulders shaking helplessly as Jon pins him with a questioning look. “We almost had a nice, death free conversation about singing in the shower and old memories.”

“It’s not as though I wrote the song,” Jon grouses, but there’s an amusement hidden in the lines of his lips. 

Martin can’t help it, he leans forward and kisses him, relishes still in being allowed it. So many of their early kisses were awkward, desperate, as though Martin was afraid it would be taken from him- as though Jon had already decided he would be found wanting. This one is soft, short, and it ends with Jon smiling so slightly into Martin’s lips as he pulls away. It’s perfect, Martin thinks.

“Will you sing for me? If I asked?” Martin’s quick to try his luck as Jon’s good mood lingered, holding up his now neatly wrapped fingertip to make his point. “I’m injured, Jon. Terribly.”

“You’re terribly _something,_ ” Jon retorts, but there’s still a smile ghosting his face.

**Author's Note:**

> song is 'we'll meet again' by vera lynn and has a million rad covers besides, like cash and the inkspots and sinatra
> 
> just short nonsense and also i'm still insulted jonny sims sings so well


End file.
